


Strangers In The Night

by SuperSillyAndDorky06



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Wrestling, And Oliver Queen Is Hers, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Car Sex, Childhood Sweethearts, Curses, Dancing, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Felicity Smoak Is His Lobster, First Meetings, Gen, Homelessness, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Memory Loss, Pole Dancing, Possessive Behavior, Protective Oliver, Reincarnation, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Smut, Staring, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover, Wrestling, of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSillyAndDorky06/pseuds/SuperSillyAndDorky06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all Alternate Universe first meeting one-shots.<br/>Assassin AU, Angel/Demon AU, Pole Dancer AU and more. </p><p>NEW : Childhood meeting AU. </p><p>Check it out! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Strangers with physical relationship.

 

It started on a Friday night. 

Felicity had been sitting on the bar stool of the bar where Sara had just started bar-tending, there for moral support because she had been so, so very nervous on the new job. She had been sitting on the stool there, sipping some delicious drink Sara had made when her eyes had, on her perusal of the bar, stopped on a man sitting all alone in a booth in the corner, quietly eating. 

Felicity had stared unabashedly at him, at his drop-dead handsome face and muscular, tall physique openly, before removing her gaze and flipping her hair over her shoulder and crossing her legs, trying to attract his attention, but he had been intense. Quiet. Just quietly eating his food without even looking up once, his dark blondish-brownish head bowed and the muscles in his arms flexing as he moved.

By the time he had paid the bill, Felicity had resigned herself to the fact that he just hadn’t noticed her. Just her luck. 

She had quietly turned back to the bar, sighing at herself, when a woodsy scent had invaded her and she had turned towards it, gasping in surprise to see him standing right beside her, staring at her with clear, stark blue eyes that just made his face way too close to perfection to be real. 

He hadn’t said a word, just held his hand out for her, and she had stared at it, looking at the callouses and the rough ridges over the big palms that somehow aroused her, and after a moment of hesitation, she had put her hand in his wordlessly. 

They had been out the door silently, an odd understanding, an odd tension humming between them and had walked back to her apartment in silence. By the time they had reached her floor, Felicity’s body had been buzzing with so much sexuality, she had felt like she would combust if he didn’t touch her soon. And the moment they had exited the elevator, her back had been pressed against the door and his mouth had been on hers and their clothes had been off withing minutes of entering her apartment.

They had just barely made it to her bedroom, when his face had been buried between her legs and her hands had gripped his hair and her cries had filled the empty apartment. Soon enough, he had been filling her to the hilt, moving like no one had ever moved inside her, her muscles clamping on him with every powerful thrust. He had made her come twice before he let go, his fantastic body scarred and marred so intensively she knew he must have been a soldier of some kind. She had guessed. But he never told her, just collecting his clothes, pressing a kiss to her swollen mouth. Just as wordlessly as he came, he had left.

Felicity had thought, rightfully, that it had been a mind-blowing, earth shattering one night thing. 

She had been wrong. 

* * *

He returned the next night, somehow entering her house without breaking the door or opening the window, like a ghost, and woke her up with his finger trailing over her cheek. She blinked her eyes open, surprised to see him, and he just looked down at her before leaning over her, his mouth softly parting her lips, seeking an invitation she willingly gave, pulling him closer upon her. He stayed for hours that night, taking her in different ways, his body pumping into hers over and over and over again, so wild and wanton she had screamed multiple times, her sheets a rumpled mess and his back red with her scratches, her own skin lined with small bites. And exhausted, when she dozed off, she heard him leave. 

* * *

It went on for two months. He would come to her without fail every night, blow her world with the best sex she had ever had, all over the apartment, in positions she had never thought possible, making her come every single time, multiple times too, but he never spoke a word except when telling her to come or calling her “baby” sometimes. That’s what she called him too, never knowing who he was, never knowing what he did. 

He came, they fucked, and he left. 

It was thrilling for two months. And then it started leaving a sour taste in her mouth. The very mouth he so skillfully kissed every night. 

* * *

Seth from work asked her out for drinks one Friday evening. She blinked, hesitated, then accepted. Seth was cute, nerdy, and very similar to her. He had two sisters and his parents lived in Iowa and he had worked with her for two years. So, she had said yes.    

They went out, had a fantastic time, got absolutely rip-roaring drunk and she stumbled home, very, very late that night, completely plastered. He was there, pacing in the living room. 

She looked at his gruff demeanor and giggled and hiccuped before ignoring him and going on to her bedroom, stripping to her underwear and falling into bed. She never noticed his reaction, or she would have perhaps, considered something else later. But that was the first night in two months that they didn’t have sex. 

* * *

Things between them tensed a bit after that. He came the next night but Felicity told him not to again, because she had accepted a date with a guy. He clenched his stupid, square jaw and tersely nodded, before kissing the life out of her, pulling her on her toes as he held her face in his huge hands, and then left. 

It was for the best. Two months like that had been heaven, but they had to stop. 

* * *

She went out on a date with Seth the next week. It was a sweet date, but slightly boring. He dropped her off at her door and kissed her cheek like a gentleman. She turned the lock and stepped inside, to see  _him_  there, his eyes darkened, furious. He strode over to her without pause, even before the door had completely shut, and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her like his life depended on it, making her toes curl in her heels and her arms curl around his neck, their tongues welcoming each other like lost lovers, their bodies tangling on the floor right there, his passion something completely else that night. 

She went on a date with one man. She had sex with another. 

And she woke up, for the first time in two months, covered in hickeys, angry little hickeys, from head to toe.

* * *

His touch on her started to be clouded by her doubts soon. So, one night, when his finger trailing over her cheek became too much, she told him very clearly to not return again. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if he had a wife and a child, didn’t know if he was sleeping with other women while he was with her, didn’t know  _anything_. She knew _nothing_  except how he tasted and what sounds he made and how expertly he could maneuver her body. He stilled and tensed throughout her impassioned speech, his jaw tight and hands clenching. Then, he silently picked up his clothes and walked away without looking back. Felicity admitted it hurt. 

* * *

It ended on a Friday evening. 

She sat on the bar stool, looking around at the people, completely depressed and kicking herself for letting the best orgasms of her life go, having gone  _days_  without seeing him, while Sara took care of customers when she smelled the woodsy scent she knew in her bones beside her. 

Keeping her cool, she looked at him, at his black shirt rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the strip of his neck she loved to taste, and her eyes blinked up at him. 

And then, to her utmost surprise, he spoke. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Felicity stared at him, stunned, and nodded mutely. He got her a drink and leaned on the counter beside her, facing her, his eyes holding the same intensity she was used to from him, before he tilted his head. 

“Oliver Queen. Single. No wife or child anywhere. I have been in a monogamous physical relationship for the past few months. Now, I’d like to explore if it can be more that that.”

His simple statements hit her over the head and she swallowed, her hands shaking a bit, her heart pounding like crazy. 

He began again before she could utter a word, in a low, husky voice. “I don’t like you dating anyone else. I don’t like the thought of any other man touching you. The thought of someone else with you the way I am, making you scream the way I do- it makes me see red.”

Her jaw dropped by that point. 

“Say something.”

She blinked again, blurting the first thing that came to her mind. “Will the orgasms stop if we go for more?”

He looked at her for a long moment before offering her his hand, just like the last time, but this time, speaking softly. “Come home with me.”

She looked at that hand for a few seconds, seeing the hand which loved trailing over her cheek to wake her up almost every night, to trail over her skin to make her arch, to trail over her flesh to make her quiver. 

She looked for a long moment at the hand, and then, she took it. 

It ended on a Friday. 

It began on one too.


	2. Dances Of Different Kinds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers with an odd connection.

 

Felicity never danced. She always got conscious and hence, clumsy and it never ended well for her or the people around her. 

It had just been something to pass the time with that day. 

While waiting for Sara, whose car had broken down, and having an hour to spare, Felicity had entered the empty studio opposite to the one Sara was an instructor in and had looked around, wanting to loosen up. The small studio had been dark, with just enough light to make out everything, courtesy of the lights from outside reflected my the wall of mirrors. She had let her eyes adjust and stretched a little. 

Felicity had put her coat down on the floor with her bag and put some soft music on her phone, feeling sinful for some reason, and stepped in the middle of the room to start swaying to the rhythm, slowly gyrating her hips, her eyes closed as she lost herself to the sensuous beats. 

Felicity never danced. But something inside her had wanted to that day. 

The same something had made her eyes open suddenly and frozen her in her tracks, her gaze locking with  _his._  

He had been sitting on the floor, leaning against the mirror, one leg bent and his hand on his knee in a relaxed pose, watching her sharply. His eyes had been anything but relaxed. They had been  _stormy._  

And Felicity had stared mutely at his gorgeous face for long seconds, her heart thumping like crazy, before her cheeks had flushed and she had picked her stuff up, quickly making her way to the door. 

She had felt his eyes on her the entire way but never dared to look back. 

* * *

It was supposed to end there. But call it curiosity, call it something else, Felicity went to the empty studio after work the next night, after darkness had descended upon the city, feeling a thrill run through her. Like the day before, the studio was dark and empty. 

Narrowing her eyes, she once again put her coat aside and put on the music, closing her eyes, dancing like she had the previous night. 

And when she was done, after long minutes, she opened her eyes and found him there, once again. He sat exactly in the same place in the same position, watching her with narrowed eyes, a blank look on his face. 

She smiled a bit at that before picking her bag up and leaving, her body buzzing with something way more than adrenaline. 

* * *

She went there again. She told herself it was just for the night. Only one more night. Yup. 

She put her coat down and put the music on. 

She closed her eyes. 

And this time, she felt him, right behind her. 

He didn’t touch her but his scent, something woodsy and musky, wrapped over her, around her, the heat of his body palpable behind hers, his warm breath washing over her hair. 

She didn’t turn and he didn’t touch. 

They just stayed, silent, for long moments till the music faded away and she left without looking back. 

* * *

He touched her the next time. Just barely pulling her towards him, as they swayed to the music and moved in sync. Felicity felt his big, rough hand low against her hips, scorching her with his touch, her pulse spiking completely and blood rushing through her veins at the casual touch that was anything but, mixing with the heat the sheer physical differences between them inspired inside her, let alone the lithe grace with which the man moved, the utter confidence he had in his body, or the focused intensity of his eyes on hers. 

He touched barely touched. Yet she felt completely stripped.  

* * *

It became their thing soon. She went to the studio every night after work, only to find him waiting for her there, in the darkened studio. 

He offered her his hand and tugged her close. They moved and swayed and danced, their hips grinding together with the beat, their eyes never leaving the other, and then she left. 

But with each night, lines were consensually crossed. Casual touches became lingering caresses. Lingering caresses became bold groping. Bold groping became something else entirely. 

They never kissed. 

Yet it felt more intimate than sex. 

* * *

Things changed in the second week. One night, while he gripped her hips in his huge hand and moved their bodies together, she turned around, pressing her back to his hard chest, and he pulled her hips back into his, gyrating against her, with no space between their bodies, and their eyes locked in the mirror on the wall. 

She saw the way her body writhed, twisted, turned against his, saw the primal look in his eyes as he had gazed back at her. She turned her neck to actually lock their eyes together. His breath brushed over her face, his hands tightening on her hips as he swelled hard behind her, his eyes glazed with something more intense than she had ever seen. 

They breathed together for long seconds, sharing the same breath in the space between their mouths, her entire body buzzing with an awareness only he had created, her chest heaving as her stomach clenched harder and a hunger gnawed inside her. 

They stood like that for an eternity before he inhaled one more time, his eyes scanning her face, and pulled away. 

And for the first time in their time together, he left. 

* * *

He did not come the next night. Or the next. Or the next. 

Felicity went for a week, making excuses for him in her head, feeling scared that something had happened to him, before finally accepting, on her seventh night standing there all alone, looking at the mirror that had once reflected their tangled selves, now only showing her her lone reflection, that he was not coming anymore. 

The knot, which had started growing in her chest that week, spread to her stomach slowly and coiled tighter and tighter, even as the days passed.

* * *

She came to a club she used to frequent till a month ago after a week, dredging herself out of her pained bubble and trying to be more fun. It was pathetic how hung up she was on him. 

A few minutes in the club, she had a guy ask her for a dance, and to slay her demons, she accepted. It felt odd dancing with someone who was not him, someone who was shorter, not as muscular, not as warm. 

So, she did what she had done before. Closing her eyes, she pretended in her mind that it was his warm body grinding behind hers, his hands gripping her hips, his breath hot on her ear. 

And suddenly it was. 

She blinked up in surprise, a gasp escaping her as she saw the feral, enraged look in his eyes, his face hard and his jaw clenched as he turned her and completely pressed into her, hip to hip, her breasts crushing against his chest, his hands gripping her waist tightly, his lips almost against hers.

“Don’t  _ever_  dance with anyone else like that,” he whispered hotly, his gaze fevered on hers. 

He turned and twisted her with a ferocity that night, his touch a claim on her skin, a brand, his eyes roving hers possessively. 

He muttered “Mine” hotly in her ear at least five times before she snapped.

There were angry words after that, mostly on her part. There was stubborn silence after that, mostly on his part. There was an understanding too.

And then, they were moving out of the club, moving towards his place, moving on to the huge bed. They moved the entire night, for hours and hours and hours, as he thrust and she pushed and they came together, over and over and over again, the intimacy more profound than it had been earlier, their breaths and bodies tangling together, tired but not sated.

The dancing never stopped.

It only changed. 

It became more. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/dorky06/)


	3. On The Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnapping. Assassin.

 

 

She knew she was going to die.  

Felicity knew poking around her boss’s side business would lead to something bad. She had just never expected it to be  _this_  bad. 

She had just entered her apartment and shut the door behind her when her back had suddenly been against the door, her keys clattering to the ground, and a hand had been covering her mouth completely, muffling her surprised noise. Blinking up with wide eyes, she had barely been able to see the tall, muscular man in the darkness of the place, the man who had had her completely trapped against the door, unable to move an inch. 

Heart pounding, fear had invaded her senses at her inability to move, at the sheer strength and size of the man before her, and she had known with a sudden clarity, a clarity which had sent her stomach reeling, that he had been there to kill her for poking around. 

She had struggled then, tears running down her face because god help her, she had not been going to die without a fight, and she had managed to bite his hand, clawing at him furiously, trying to bite him again like a caged animal, her entire body flushed with adrenaline, infusing her small body with more fight than she had thought possible. 

And it had made him pause. She had felt him still completely, seen the silhouette of his head tilt sideways for a second, right before he had put a finger on her neck right beside her pulse, and everything had gone black. 

* * *

Felicity blinked her eyes open, bleary and dazed, and looked around the strange, dark room she was lying down in. Turning, groaning because her headache was reminding her very vividly that she was indeed alive, her eyes fell on a figure sitting in a chair beside the bed. 

Gulping, Felicity made out his features in the soft light coming from outside, and blinked in surprise because whatever she had expected to see, it surpassed it. Her lips parted upon seeing his face- his beautiful face, beautiful features, frozen in a blank mask. 

She asked him where she was. He did not reply. 

She asked him who he was. He did not reply. 

She blinked again and tried to stand up and head for the door, and  _then_  he moved. Standing up fluidly, he came to a halt in front of her, his eyes roving her face, and his fingers going to her neck (and she had figured that he had pressed some nerve to make her unconscious). Her pulse spiked, feeling the warmth of his muscles so close to hers, something inside her telling her that he wouldn’t hurt her. He still hadn’t.

His fingers came to her neck again, but he didn’t press on it. No. To her utter surprise, he  _caressed_ , his rough fingertips catching against her smooth skin, his callouses telling her he used his hands for things she couldn’t fathom, the bleak look in his eyes making her breath catch. 

He caressed her neck, his fingers skimming so gently over her pulse, right at the spot he had pressed, savoring the feel of her skin. And then turned around and left. 

* * *

They were in a hotel suite. 

And she was kidnapped but her abductor was apparently not very good at this sort of stuff because he did not tie, torture or threaten her. Nope. He didn’t even speak. 

He let her roam the place, which actually had decent lighting, something he apparently did not like much, let her order whatever she wanted, let her watch movies and sip wine. But there was an understanding underlying the actions or lack thereof- she wouldn’t try to leave and he would let her do whatever she wanted. 

It confused her. She knew he had come to kill her, had known it in her gut the moment he had pressed her into the door. But he hadn’t. And it looked like he had no plans to either. She didn’t know how long he was going to keep her there. And it all confused her. 

* * *

Felicity did learn a few things in the few days she was with him, about him. 

He had an assortment of weapons that he cleaned regularly, with precision and practice that fascinated her every time she saw him working with remarkable focus. 

He worked out shirtless every morning, something that had made her gasp upon her first morning there, both because of his extensive scars and his ridiculous body. Felicity had seen men in her life but kidnapper or not, he took the cake without competition. She made sure to be up in the living room every morning not to miss it, and she was pretty sure he knew it.

But he never said anything to her at all. Never smiled at all. She would have thought he didn’t even know of her existence in his space lest for two things. 

He watched her. He watched her  _a lot_ , with those stark blue eyes that completely unnerved her and did something completely else to her insides. He watched her more than he should, with an astounding intensity she had never received before in her life, and complete focus, and for the oddest reason, it made her feel safe, the irony of which was not lost on her.

But it was her neck which made her realize he had his own way of communicating, even though it baffled her somewhat. Every night before she went to bed, she would mutter a goodnight and he would raise his fingers to that spot on her neck, let them trail, ever so softly, before turning around and leaving. He did it every night.

It always made her breath hitch. It always made her swallow. It always made her nerves flutter. 

But she did not understand what he tried to say with that touch. 

She doubted he did either. 

* * *

Felicity had known she had become a liability to her boss. She had known someone had been coming after her. 

What she didn’t know was why he didn’t finish the job, as a week passed, when anyone else would have. 

He did not kill her. He did not let her go. 

One week with him and she still did not know a thing about him, except killing her was the last thing on his mind. 

* * *

It was the little creaking of the wood which alerted her. She sat up straight in the chair, the daylight lighting up the suite completely, and looked towards him in fright as he stood, giving her a sharp look to stay put. 

She stay put, frozen in her chair as he went out, his gun cocked up and posture rigid. Her eyes stayed glued to his back as he left her line of sight, and remained gone for minutes. 

Then he came back in, the bleak look in his eyes bleaker, and sat down on the chair opposite hers. 

He didn’t look up at her. And she didn’t ask. 

She didn’t have to. 

* * *

He escorted her to her apartment that evening. 

The cab stopped in front of her building, the darkness completely around them, all around them, as he walked her to her door like they had just come back from a date, and stopped, facing each other, just breathing together for long minutes, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. 

She knew that the fact that he had brought her to her place meant she was safe now, and so she looked up at him, and thanked him for keeping her safe when he wasn’t supposed to.

Like always, he didn’t say anything, just raised his fingers and touched her neck, exactly on the spot that had become his, his blue eyes searching her face, scanning it, with something soft in his gaze that made her heart hammer wildly and a kind of tension hum in the air between them. 

He ignored the tension, before he pulled away and left. 

Like always. 

* * *

Weeks passed. 

Felicity changed jobs, changed cars, changed hairstyles, changed everything except her apartment. 

She knew she would never see him again, knew that whatever deep something she harbored was futile, knew it was unhealthy too. But she also knew that she had never been affected by someone as she had been by him. She knew that he had kept her secure and safe even though he had been hired to kill her. And it was that knowledge which had her touching her neck every night, trying to feel his fingers on her skin, and slowly, over time, making her stop because weeks passed and the touch faded. 

* * *

She just entered the apartment, pushing her coat away and locking the door behind her when suddenly, her back was pressed into the door by a big, tall masculine figure in the darkness.

Felicity’s body stilled in shock before relaxing, his scent and his warmth something familiar to her senses, and her heart picked up, pounding away in her chest as she looked up at him, drinking in his face after so long, watching him drink hers. 

Slowly, he leaned forward and she closed her eyes reflexively, waiting with bated breath for whatever he was doing. After long, long moments, she felt his hot breath for the first time on her skin, his lips slowly pressing against the spot on her neck, skimming her thundering pulse, making it thunder even faster. 

She tilted her head back, relief and something else mingling in her veins, heat fusing in her blood, and he just kept his lips pressed to the spot, letting his tongue peek out and brush her skin, setting it ablaze. 

He pulled away and looked down at her, and opened his mouth for the first time. “Hi.”

The rough, husky rasp in his voice made her stomach clench, making her smile at him softly, seeing not something bleak but something soft in his eyes as he looked down at her. 

She bit her lip, his presence giving her the courage to tangle their fingers together, her small hands taking hold of his big ones. “Hi,” she whispered back, her chest heaving with the tension she felt crackling between them.

And standing there, pressed with her back against the door and his own body at her front, she knew it instinctively.

Last time they had been here like this, it had been about death. 

It was about life now. Theirs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/dorky06/)


	4. The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers. Light dom/sub relationship where lines blur.

    

 

* * *

 

It was on his trip to check out the new branch of Jynx, the largest chain of sex clubs that catered to very particular tastes, that he felt it- the thrill which had been missing from his life for months.

Always having been a dominant in a lot of ways, Oliver had had the pleasure of having a fantastic sex life with willing, compliant women who accepted and reveled in his dominance without batting a lash. It had been fantastic in the beginning, but while he was a dominant, he did not get off on it. And the compliance, the acceptance had bored him. 

For months now, he had not visited the basement he had in the mansion, the basement designed specifically for his sexual desires, the basement which was now collecting dust metaphorically because Oliver was bored and while a willing woman still pleasured him, he wanted more. 

So, when he heard about the new club, he decided to check it out for himself, to see the crowd, the place in an effort to jolt the desire which had become dormant in him. 

Feeling experimental, he entered the door with a white band around his wrist, a band that indicated he was there as a submissive, and scoped out the area, looking around at the crowd for minutes.

And then he saw  _her._  

In the place filled with erotic, muted lights, filled with the smells and sounds of something almost wickedly nefarious, filled with bodies and objects ready to be pleasured and to pleasure, he saw her. 

She was unlike the willowy women he was used to, all curves, all woman, all flesh in all the right places, and small. A black band adorned her tiny wrists, indicating she was a dominant, though she did not look like one, her shoulders back as she looked around the place and her stance firm, her blonde hair up in a high ponytail, exposing her long neck to his eyes. But it was her attire which confused him, fascinated him. She stood amidst a crowd of dominants wearing black, in a gauzy white dress that clung to her curves and flared into a skirt which stopped mid-thigh, sinful thighs he could imagine wrapped around him that went on to end in sinful fuck-me red heels, and the black band. 

He looked down at his own black suit and white band, a sliver of amusement wafting through him as he headed towards her, marveling at the thought of how well they already matched.    

* * *

The moment he stepped in her periphery, he saw her eyes drift to his wrist, to check the color of his band, before unabashedly checking him out, lingering over his well-maintained body, before traveling up and up over his neck to land on his eyes. 

Their eyes locked and he faltered in his step for a moment, blinking at the luminous blue eyes looking right back at him. She had looked beautiful from afar but this close, she  _glowed_. And he felt like a moth. 

Barely reaching his shoulders even in her heels, a fact which turned him on for some reason, he saw as she took a firm hold of his arm and led him towards the back of the club, towards where the knew the private chambers were. 

She pushed open a door, gesturing for him to enter and he did, letting her take the lead, the thrill he had felt upon entering the club festering inside him, churning into something wilder. He took in the the big room, the huge bed against the wall, the pole right in the middle of the space, a bank of drawers over to a side that he knew held the assortment of various toys and tools of pleasure he knew from his own basement. 

Turning around, he saw her shuffle a bit on her feet as she locked the door, whirling around to pin him with a look so hot he felt it sear his blood and go straight to his groin, her spine straightening as she headed for the drawer and came back, a bit of rope hanging loosely from her small hands.

She came back and instructed him, in a soft, firm voice, to take off his clothes. Quelling the urge to whip her own dress over her head, Oliver clenched his hand and stripped before her, comfortable in his own nakedness, and let her have her fill as she looked him all over with rapidly heating eyes. She stepped into his space and gave him a push, making him sit on the bed as she peeled her dress off her body, revealing supple flesh that made him hard. 

And Oliver looked his fill, trying to sit still as she came forward, a fleeting look of uncertainty in her eyes even more fascinating to him. It was the deep inhale and the lip bite followed by squaring of her shoulders which made him realize it. She was very new to this but fuck if she didn’t want to try. 

So, leaning back, he let her.

* * *

That night had been different. Good. He had let her try whatever she had wanted to, which was not a lot since he had been right in assuming it had all been new for her. But she had tied him up and had her wicked way with him, and the sex had been amazing. 

But there had been something missing, which was exactly why he returned the that Saturday for an encore, to stoke the heat he had felt that night to another level, to see if they truly did have the insane chemistry he had felt. 

She was dressed more like a domme this time, in black leather bustier and fishnets that clung to her like second skin, his cock already hard just by looking at her. But she wouldn’t be the domme tonight. No, tonight he was going to test them, test her control, test her limits, test her. Tonight, he would devour what he had barely tasted the last time. 

Their gazes locked again, and only the flush on her face was telling. But she raised her eyebrows and headed for the chamber again, and he followed. 

The moment the door locked, he pressed her into it, the surprised sound she made firing his blood, and pulled at her straps, revealing exquisite breasts to his hungry eyes, breasts he devoured with his mouth. 

Taking her to the bed, he looked at her wide eyes, her shock at his dominance which was not supposed to be there, making the fever in his blood rise as he stripped her within seconds to nothing but the fishnets. She twisted against him, recovering, but not before he glimpsed the arousal in her eyes, not before he knew she wanted this, wanted him like this. 

So, he pushed. She pushed back. 

He pulled. She pulled away. 

He restrained her with his arms, she clawed him with hers. 

By the end of the night, they both were breathing heavily, exhausted. He had made her scream more times than he could remember; she had scratched him, marked him more than anyone had ever dared. 

And as she dressed, her stockings ripped and bites littering her skin from his teeth, something so animalistic he had never done it before, she looked at him with her flushed face while he dressed, the buttons of his shirt ripped and gone. They looked at each other in silence loaded with meaning. 

It was the silence of discovery, of a kind of friction that had made them go all night, round after round, give each other pleasure in a way they never had before even as they fought for dominance. 

It was the silence of knowledge, that they would both be returning the next week.

* * *

The next Saturday, she was waiting for him in the chamber, not a stitch of fabric on her beautiful body, a red whip dangling from her fingers and mile high gold heels on her feet. Raising his eyebrows as she gestured towards the bench, Oliver stripped quickly, sitting down on the bench, letting her lead for tonight, squashing the urge to get up and impale into her over and over. 

She tied his hands behind his back and slowly, very slowly, teased him with the whip, never really using it for anything other than a little flick here, a little drag there. She built him up, over and over again, and finally, when she straddled him and flexed her hips, pushing them both over the edge, Oliver realized he didn’t really mind this so much. 

But it was her turn next week.

* * *

And so the weeks passed. 

They played this little game only they knew about, their roles reversing, clashing, blurring behind closed doors as they fucked and fucked each other to exhaustion. 

But it wasn’t just the fucking. 

It was the way her mouth would open on a silent scream as he made her come again and again, after she had already screamed loudly for a while. It was the way he saw something vulnerable in her eyes sometimes for a second, right before she closed them or blinked them away. It was the little laugh she had when he touched a ticklish spot by accident, sometimes on purpose, before a mischievous look replaced it. It was how she never held back her responses from him, letting him know with everything she had how he pleased her, even as she fought him, even as she clawed him, even as she bit him. But just as he let her, she let him restrain her, let him keep her under him, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to, and from a woman as ferocious as she was, that became it. 

It was how all of these never ceased to thaw something in his chest that had been frozen for a long time. 

Saturday became his favorite day of the week without his even realizing it.

* * *

They never kissed. 

It was an understanding between the two of them from the beginning. While he had explored every inch of her body with his mouth, from her knees to her back to the juncture of her thighs, he had never gone near her mouth. Neither had she. It didn’t matter whether she rode him or he thrust into her from above or any other million ways they had sex. They shared breaths, shared the space between their faces.

But they never kissed. It was an understanding. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

* * *

He felt it on a Saturday in their third month together, something he surprisingly remembered. 

He lay back on the bed with his hands tied above his head, letting her have her way tonight, feeling her red mouth trailing soft kisses over his scars, going right down to his cock and taking him in her wet mouth. That wasn’t out of the ordinary at all. In fact, she loved going down on him almost as much as he loved going down on her. No. What was out of the ordinary was something else entirely. 

She pulled away and slid on to him, her walls squeezing him with a now familiar but not any less pleasurable rhythm, her lips peppering kisses over his jaw and his chest as she rode him. Then, she pulled back a little, looking into his eyes, biting her lip in that way she did when she was uncertain of something. Hesitantly, she leaned down and his heart thudded, understanding what she was going to do, his eyes closing as he felt her soft mouth brush the corner of his lip for the first time, her tongue peeking out to taste his mole. His arms ached with the need to grip her head and plunder her mouth, needing to know what she tasted like there. 

But just as quickly as she had leaned in, she pulled away, moving her hips faster over his, closing her eyes and letting the pleasure chase away her slightly bothered expression. 

She came within moments, clamping around him so hard, deliberately, that he felt himself come inside her, his chest tight with frustration to make her look but unable to do so.  

Quickly, she got down, dressing up and untying him, almost running away from the chamber even as he dressed, her head down. 

Oliver saw her leave for the first time in weeks without looking at him, without seeing that ‘see you next week’ in her eyes, and his chest tightened more as he stood in the room, surrounded with the their mingled scents and memories.

* * *

She wasn’t there the next Saturday. 

The entire week, Oliver had been bothered by the way she had left, inexplicably wanting to bring her back and make her look him in the eyes. Silent as the two of them were, sex noises excluded, her eyes were the only language he understood. She did too. 

Which was why he had been going crazy for Saturday to come, just so he could see her and see that they were okay. They had to be. Whatever they were. 

But she wasn’t there. 

Oliver combed every inch of the place like a mad man, pushing aside people, creating a ruckus with the administration who were surprised at the dominating vibes coming from him as he demanded answers they couldn’t give. 

And then a fucking idiot suggested that maybe she didn’t want him anymore since she was a domme and he was clearly not a sub, making him falter as his gut clenched and his throat tightened, making him pick the fucker by the collar in rage before he was pulled off. 

No. 

He couldn’t believe that. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the way she sounded when she came, or that cute laugh of hers, trying to tell himself that she enjoyed being with him. But all he saw was her bowed head and her hurry to leave. 

Could she have? Could she have gone to some other club and found another man, someone she could dominate better, someone more suited to her needs?

Oliver felt his chest burning with an unfamiliar sensation and a kind of rage he had never felt before took over him, making his body vibrate with the need to knock heads together, anything to dissipate the lead weight that had settled in his stomach at the thought of her with another man.

He waited all night for her to come, the weight in his chest getting heavier with the realization that she wouldn’t. He waited all night, imagining her with someone else in some other club, imagining her moans as the fucking bastard touched her and pleasured her, imagining her whimpers as he drove into her over and over again. He waited all night, driving himself to the verge of murdering the faceless fucker who dared to so much as breathe on her, driving himself to madness.

He trashed his entire office at dawn, breathing heavily, feeling the anger loosen its hold on him, but the weight did not go away. Neither did the hurt. 

For the first time in a long time, he  _hurt_. 

* * *

Another week passed. 

Oliver devoted his entire time in trying to find her, which was not an easy task since they had never exchanged names and he did not have any picture of her. The investigator he hired was taking too long and it was driving Oliver insane, not knowing why she hadn’t come. He just wanted to talk to her once, and if not seeing him was what she wanted, he would step back. 

Just the thought of stepping back, of her telling him she wanted him gone, made his stomach drop. 

Knowing he couldn’t take it anymore, he went to the club during the day and offered an insane amount of money to the woman behind the desk just for her name. He was not proud of it but he didn’t have any other choice. 

He sure as hell didn’t regret it when he found her. 

* * *

Oliver raised his hand to knock on the door, his heart thundering faster than it ever had before, his hand hovering in the air for a long moment before he let it down, knocking firmly. 

He heard a little shuffling from the inside before the door opened and there she was. 

Felicity. 

He took her in like a man starved for too long, seeing the big square glasses perched on her nose, the loose t-shirt hanging over one shoulder with pandas all over them and the blue socks with white stars on them on her feet, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. He took in her stunned gasp and her wide eyes, blinking rapidly at him as he just stared at her, surprised at how absolutely adorable she looked. Who would have thought- fierce sex goddess by night, cute nerd by day. 

He saw her gulp audibly before she opened the door wider, inviting him in silently. He entered, his eyes never leaving her, never going to her house. They all could wait. 

She shuffled in front of the door like she had that first night in the club, before biting her lip, keeping her gaze down. 

And he had had enough. 

He strode to her, seeing her back up against the door as he caged her in, weeks of frustration rolling off of him, weeks of needing to just fucking see her, weeks of being driven mad by his own mind taking its toll. 

Taking a deep breath, barely hanging on to his control, he pressed her into the door with his body, just breathing in her scent that he had missed for fr too long, just being with her. 

He saw her chest heave as she looked up at him slowly, finally, her eyes glistening with moisture and her mouth trembling slightly, looking so fucking beautiful his breath hitched. But his heart stopped looking at the reason for his unasked questions in her eyes, eyes that he knew all too well, eyes that were almost transparent to him, eyes that told her everything she couldn’t say. 

And Oliver, unable to resist, brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, feeling the softness he had craved for days, feeling her warmth as he looked deep into her eyes, letting her see and know he meant it. 

“No ropes, no ties. Just you and me.”  

Her eyes fluttered shut at his words and he let her take it in, let her understand that he was here and he had shifted the world to find her and that he would be damned if he let her go. 

And slowly, she blinked up at him, something so soft in her eyes that it made his heart clench. Her small hands wrapped around his waist, coming to rest on his back as she stood on her toes, lifting that trembling mouth up to him, offering him what she never had before, telling him to cross that line they never had and not look back. 

He searched her eyes for a second, letting himself finally breathe that he found her, and leaned in, settling his mouth over hers, finally, seeing her eyes close and she simpered, her hands fisting his shirt at the back.

Closing his own eyes, he slanted his face more firmly, and finally, crossed a line that had been blurred months ago. 

They  _kissed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. For The Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers who meet only in the car.

 

* * *

 

 

He never saw her outside of that car. 

She did not know why he did that, just that he did. 

She had been driving on the highway, getting back into the city from visiting her mother one very stormy night when her car had coughed and shrieked and died on her, right in the middle of nowhere. Cliched as it was, she had jumped out and looked around, getting drenched within seconds when a big Suburban had almost passed her, stopping ahead. 

She had seen enough gory movies to know not to get in the car but being stranded there had been way more unsafe. So, with slight trepidation, she had knocked on the window and seen it roll down, to reveal a man sitting inside, his face completely in the shadows. 

She had told him about her car, needing a ride, and seen his head move, indicating for her to hop in. Taking down the plate number, just in case, she had, hoping she wouldn’t be a real life cliche by the end of the night. 

But the man, who she had been completely been unable to see in the absolute darkness and with her bad eyesight, except for his square jaw and muscular, tall physique, had been a complete gentleman. He had not spoken much, but he had dropped her right outside her house on her request, nodding when she had thanked him. 

She had entered her house, called the towing service and looked back at the vehicle, disappearing around the corner. 

* * *

The incident that night stuck in her head for the entire week for some reason. For that same reason, she did not delete the number of the plates from her phone. 

Exactly a week later, she was walking back home from the all night store with some ice-cream when the same dark vehicle pulled beside her again and the door opened in an invitation. Biting her lip, Felicity inhaled and hopped inside, shutting the door behind her, and looked at him. 

He was somewhat visible in the light from the street, his jaw scruffy and half his profile absolutely beautiful from what she could see. He didn’t asked her anything, did not say anything, but just dropped her two minutes later outside her house. 

She sat still for a second before thanking him and leaving, confused. 

* * *

He stopped outside her office the next night. Felicity recognized the SUV as she stood across the street, completely baffled as to how he even knew where she worked, and made her way to her car, ignoring him. He did not follow her home, like she half suspected he would, but just drove away quietly, leaving her with a mass of emotions she didn’t know what to do with. 

He was there the next night as well. She ignored him, and took her car. 

And the next. She still took her car, hesitating. 

Then the next. The hesitation was more profound now. 

Felicity took a cab the next morning. 

* * *

It became her routine sooner than she would have thought. She took a cab to office every morning, and he would be waiting without fail every night, never late, always there when she got out. 

She would always cross the street and get in the car, and he would drive her safely home, never even looking at her in a way that made her feel weird. In fact, when he did take his eyes off the road to pin her with a look, it usually made her stomach riot and her heart pound. 

He did not talk much. She did. She spoke to him about her day and her work and a lot of things. He just listened, sometimes nodding to what she said, sometimes grunting in acquiescence. 

He did not talk, but he waited for her every single day. 

* * *

More than a month passed. 

And she invited him in for coffee one night. He smiled slightly at her, his hand coming to cup her cheek before he shook his head. Felicity went in, not knowing whether to be disappointed that he had refused or giddy that he had touched her for the first time. 

She decided to be both. 

* * *

More days passed and their drives got longer. His touches remained confined to her cheeks. But that was it.

He never tried a move, never flirted. Only his eyes heated up sometimes but she was pretty sure she imagined it. 

She asked him once, in frustration, why he even did this everyday. He shrugged and cupped her cheek and let her go. 

After days and days of the same routine, of never moving forward, she finally got mad. And she made a plan. 

* * *

She told him on Friday night when he drove her home not to pick her up the next day. He looked at her curiously and gritting her teeth, Felicity told him that she was going out with a friend. 

She noticed the way his hands clenched around the steering wheel and his jaw locked, his muscles tightened, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back.  

She dressed to kill the next night, and went to the bar near her office, sitting there for an hour before leaving. 

He was there, sitting in the car, watching her, just like she had known he would be. 

Crossing the street and opening the door, she just settled in when she felt his hand in her hair, turning her face towards him and his mouth on hers, bruising, brutal and so passionate she felt herself melt against him. He kissed her like an untamed beast for long, long minutes and she returned it, bite for bite, nip for nip, lick for lick. He growled against her mouth. She moaned against his. Then, pulling away, his eyes furious, heated, he turned the ignition off and drove.

Felicity knew it wouldn’t be to her house this time. 

* * *

They fucked like wild animals for the first round. They made love like lost lovers in the next. The car was parked in the middle of nowhere and she did not give it a thought, her body lying naked on the spacious backseat, his hot, muscular, extensively scarred body moving above hers, sharing kisses and sounds and bites in between, her hands gripping his shoulders and his hips thrusting into hers, rocking the car and their heavy breaths steaming the windows. 

It was the best night she had ever had. It was also the last night she saw him.

* * *

For the first time in months, he did not come to pick her up in the car that now felt more like home than her own house did. Felicity stood outside her office, ready to greet him with a smile and a kiss, but he wasn’t there for her to. 

She chalked it up to some emergency, not willing to think he was dumping her like everyone else, not willing to entertain the thought that it had all been to get in her pants. 

They were not that crude. They were more. 

So, she waited. He didn’t show. 

For the first time in months, Felicity took a cab home. 

* * *

A week passed. 

A week of frustration and fear and disappointment and heartbreak. A week of tears in her pillow and heaviness in her heart. But after a week, as she stood outside, spying a car in the distance that looked like his but was not, she felt the rage.       

It shook her. She marched back into her office and fed his plate number to the system, illegally obviously, but she was mad enough to not care, looking him up in the system for the first time. 

She found him within seconds, his address, his social security number, his birthday, his name. 

Then, she went to stalk him, for a change. 

* * *

She pounded on the apartment door, in the lavish building, pissed beyond belief at his behavior.

The door opened on her fourth knock and she saw him, shirtless and looking absolutely miserable, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He blinked down at her from his full height for the first time, making her realize exactly how tall he was, and she tilted her head back, seeing that haggard look slowly fade from his face, his eyes lighting up in a way she could not place. 

Her anger abated a bit upon seeing his unexpected reaction and she just looked at him, with all the questions in her eyes, needing to know the reasons, her mouth trembling with the need to talk but staying quiet to let him this time. 

And then he cupped her cheek with his big hand, in the way that was his, speaking softly, his thumb brushing her face so tenderly it made her heart throb. 

“You came.”

Felicity’s heart clenched at his words, her eyes tearing up at the utter relief in his voice. She rose on her toes, pulling him down, latching their mouths together in a soft, soft kiss, letting it tell him everything, as he picked her up swiftly and took her inside his house, shutting the world outside, their mouths locked and tongues tangled and hands memorizing each other. 

 _He_  had been the one waiting this time, after months and months of coming for her.  _He_ had been the one waiting. And she had come. 

And being there with him, in that moment, she knew she always would. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
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	6. Surround

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Strangers with a physical relationship. One of them is undercover.

* * *

 

She remembered the first time he had surrounded her.

He had come in through her window that first night, all muscles and movement and deep blue eyes that had sucked her in, so much that her hand holding the pan hadn’t moved but stayed right at her side as she had stared, stunned, at the beautiful man who had broken into her apartment. 

And then the cops had knocked. 

Felicity had understood in that moment that he had been an outlaw of some kind, but something in his eyes had beckoned her not to talk, something in her gut had succumbed. 

The cops had asked the questions and she had shut the door. And then he had been caging her in with his muscular arms, his warm breath against her ear and his chest brushing over hers, telling her not to tell anyone he had been there. 

She had nodded tentatively, more fascinated than scared, and he had left.

* * *

She had seen him again a few nights later, just when the previous encounter had almost moved to the periphery of her memory. He had been sitting on the stair right in front of her door in the darkness, as though he had been waiting for her to come home, and she had stepped up, frowning, her heart racing upon seeing his beautiful face again. 

Their gazes had locked for long moments, a silent, ancient understanding had passed between them. 

She had slowly opened the door, silently inviting him in.

He had entered, surrounding her for the second time. 

* * *

Over the next month, she learned many things about him. She learned how he smelled pressed right against her. She learned how he tasted as he lay back and let her take over. She learned his noises, from his throat, from his chest, from him, in different moments suspended between them. 

She learned he liked to surround her, with more than just his body; he liked to surround her senses. 

She learned absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

He loved holding her from behind, burrowing into her back while shielding her from the world, laving soft nuzzles over her skin as she lay on her stomach, kissing the line of her spine, licking her shoulder blade. 

Every night after they were both spent, rigorous moments of coming together, again and again, taking its toll, he would push her to her stomach and sleep, surrounding her back with his body, surrounding her with his presence. 

* * *

There were nights though, when something would change. He would dig into her back like shying away from his own demons, trying to hide into her flesh, as though her back was the only thing keeping that darkness at bay, as though she was the only thing anchoring him in that moment to their reality. 

Those nights, Felicity always turned and pulled him closer, shielding him from whatever spooked him, offering him whatever comfort he needed from her body, stemming from deep inside her. 

Those nights, she surrounded him.

* * *

The lesser she knew, the better, he said. It was for her own safety, he said.

Felicity let it go, let herself go, sway, flow, with him. 

Right until it all fell into place, and it all fell to pieces.

* * *

He forgot his laptop at the apartment one morning. And insistent beeps from the system had her opening it. She cracked open the security in a second and shut the beeping, seeing a file with her name on it. 

She clicked. 

And stared, unable to believe. 

Felicity had been hacking into government systems for years, and from the files, it was evident he had been sent to spy on her. 

He entered the apartment at that precise moment, the smile on his face vanishing at the betrayal on hers, his beautiful blue eyes widening and the scruffy jaw she had spent hours worshiping tightening. Felicity shut his laptop and left it on the table, going to the door and opening it. 

As silently as she had once invited him in, she let him out. 

* * *

That day had shaken her, left her floundering within herself, made her question her own judgement. 

Felicity changed her apartment, changed jobs, changed the bed, changed everything that reminded her of how foolish she had been. 

Weeks passed, and she settled in her new life. But every night, alone in that bed, when memories of dimples and smiles and soft blue eyes and woodsy scents assailed her, when the scruff burns and the hickeys and the teasing moments only remained like ghosts, she admitted to the darkness what she never did to herself.

She missed the way he surrounded her.   

* * *

It was on a night, almost a month later, that she felt it. 

She was out with a few work friends, at a place near her new office, trying to have a good time, leaning against the bar and waiting for her drink when she felt him. Right behind her, his muscular arms caging her in against the counter, sinews in forearms revealed under his folded shirt sleeves, that musky scent wafting to her nose, his warm, hard chest pressing into her back. 

She pushed away and left before he could do anything else, rushing back to her new apartment, rushing back to safety from her self, knowing that one soft look from those eyes would make her succumb again, hook, line and sinker.

* * *

She slept in the nude since him, a habit she could not break even after trying. That was exactly why she woke up the moment she felt his scruff scrape over the skin on her back and her breath hitched, heart starting to race. 

She tried speaking, tried moving but his muscular arms moved around her, under her, caging her in, and his head bowed over the side of her breast, over her back, every muscle in his body pressed against hers, whispering apologies to her skin. 

Felicity let him apologize, let him explain, let the soft words and soft whispers, both of voices and skin, flow over her. She let her heart pick up beat, let it thrive, let herself close her eyes and sigh on a breath, her jaw trembling at the way her senses welcomed him back, at the way her back conformed to his scarred flesh, at the way her entire being drifted to him, at the way his warmth attracted her like a moth. 

His touch didn’t surpass from sensual to sexual till she asked him, and when it did, he entered her from behind, slowly moving over her, her walls quivering around him, gnawing with the hunger only he could sate. She turned her head and joined their mouths together, moving with him, slowly, softly, and they came together with wisps of their names on the other’s lips.

And after nights, Felicity fell asleep, holding him close to her, their legs tangled and fingers entwined, her small arms tight around him, with his scent and his body all around her, his hold of her smaller body tight, his face burrowed in the crook of her neck and his arms keeping her pressed to him, everything about his demeanor making one thing evident. 

It might be their first night surrounding each other. It wouldn’t be their last.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
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	7. Until We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel/Demon AU.  
> Felicity is an angel and Oliver is a demon, both banished to earth because they fell for each other, without any memories of each other or themselves. They find each other again, only to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by lexi_the_dragon_muse.

* * *

_She had asked him not to rebel, not to leave, their bond pure, never crossing the line they didn’t even know exist._

_But he had left. He had fallen. He had changed. Or maybe she had._

_The next time she saw him, after years, they were both on earth, on neutral ground. He was darker the she remembered, more raw, more rugged, and, to her confusion, more attractive. She had never been as attracted to him as she was in that moment that dark night. He was sinful, and she was tempted. So very tempted._

_Despite knowing his kind could not touch hers and vice versa, they touched. They succumbed. They **felt**._

_And they paid the price for it for an eternity, by forgetting the very thing they were punished for._

* * *

Memories were tricky things. In this day and age, they could be altered, they could be planted, they could be removed.

Felicity could not remember anything about her life beyond the last decade. She did not know where she came from, did not know who she was really, did not know why she was called ‘Felicity’ and not something else. All she knew was that she did not bleed, she did not get hurt, and as evident from whatever memories she did have, she did not age.

Her own origins were a mystery to her, her own body a puzzle she hadn’t been able to piece to together. She had never experienced desire that she saw the people around her thriving in, never felt her flesh call out to another, never felt the hunger gnaw in her gut the way she read in books.

That was precisely why she was completely gobsmacked when she saw him on the street.

There was something familiar about him for some reason, like a song right on the tip of her tongue she could not sing, something about his closely cropped hair, something about his tall stature, about the width of his chest, about those veins in his neck, those muscles in his body, something familiar, something that stopped her in her tracks and sped up her heart in the middle of the street.

That something was making her insides riot after years of calm, the storm brewing at the very core of her unfamiliar, sending a wave of thrill over her.

And then he looked up, as though sensing her eyes on him, and she saw him halt, as though the nostalgia she could not remember was coursing through his veins too.

She let her eyes wander over his scruff, the mole at the corner of his lip that just pecked at something inside her, something she could not remember but she knew existed, let her eyes lock with his deep blue, haunted, damaged ones, her breath rushing out of her lungs. He was sinful- everything about him- and for the first time that she could remember, her flesh called out, the voice rooted from somewhere deep inside her.

Their gazes never wavered from each other, their bodies closing the distance between them in the dark of the night, like magnets coming together after a storm, tentative yet aggressive, the electricity between them something intrinsic, something inexplicable.

The darkness ensconced them in their own bubble, the lights of the streets soft and faded, like the wisps of memories in her head, barely there, barely tangible. But he was.

Enthralled by whatever was happening between them, Felicity tilted her head up to look at him, raising a small hand to touch his face while his own blue eyes searched hers, posing questions she did not have answers to.

The moment her fingers made contact with his jaw, they singed, the skin of her hand tingling, zapping, crackling from the odd kind of heat radiating off his skin, his scruff rasping over her hand in a manner that made her breath catch as they continued looking at each other. Whatever this was, this tingling of skin, this electric sparking, was not normal, was not meant to be. But standing in front him, barely reaching his shoulders, Felicity was certain it was not  _not_  right. 

* * *

They went to her house, silent as they were, not knowing what to ask, not knowing what to say, just being, knowing there was something about this night almost pure, gritty, that they had to explore.

Once the door was shut, she turned to him, taking his hand in hers, feeling that zap of heat again between them, between their palms, and led him to the bedroom. She removed her clothes, watching him remove his, their eyes never leaving the other, their voices never gracing the space between them.

As he stood before her, Felicity saw the deep, intensive scars marring his skin after every inch, the flesh mottled and bruised beyond repair, and her heart beat a staccato in her chest at the sight. The scars were familiar to her, most of them, and without even turning him, she knew the extensive burns he would have on his back, right along the line of his waist.

She also knew of the light scars her own fingers had left on his back, something unheard of because scratches healed, but his never had. His entire back was littered with light crisscrosses where she had made him bleed, she just knew it.

That knowledge scared her, the knowledge that she had known him somewhere, that her fogged mind hid memories of him. That knowledge aroused her too.

They touched each other’s bodies with hesitant, exploratory hands, curious to learn what they already once knew, their skins singing wherever they touched, the knowledge that this was forbidden making it even more necessary.

His eyes explored her like his hands did, mapping her naked shoulders and breasts, going around her waist, right down to her toes. His mouth followed, leaving her body lithe and pliable on the bed, her skin completely on fire from his touch, the heat coming off him colliding and clashing with her usually cool skin in a way that made her writhe even more, seeking his mouth, his hands, whatever he was willing to give.

After long minutes of exploring each other, she let him loom over her, his body settling between her spread legs, their gazes locked together, never moving, as he entered her.

And time stopped.

Felicity felt her head split open with pain, her breath leaving her lungs as everything became white for one split second, her entire body seizing in pain, aware from one corner of her mind that he was in greater pain above her, something happening to both of them.

She closed her eyes, gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself to him while his hands gripped her hips, staying still inside her, riding out whatever was washing over them, their breathing heavy, her nails digging his back, his flesh, drawing blood like she never had in her memory.

And then she  _remembered_.

The first time they had been together, the pleasure she had felt, never realizing what her body had been capable of, what her soul had craved, that first night, urgent, quick, hurried, moving to slow and soft, exploratory, a culmination of everything that was them. She remembered- their banishment, their punishment, how they were made to forget. She remembered, finding him again and again, through the years, being as enchanted with him every time as she had been the first, his raw, primitive nature calling to her baser self in a way it never did with anyone. She remembered, coming together with him, spending glorious nights remembering, reacquainting, recalling, reclaiming.

She remembered the sun come out every time, remembered them forgetting, vanishing, thrust to different corners of the world, only to find the other again, their memories wiped.

Felicity looked up at him, terrified because dawn would arrive in only a few hours, seeing the same knowledge, the same memories reflected back in his gaze. It was too little time. It was not enough.

Taking his face in her hands, armed with the knowledge of who he was, who they were, together, she pulled his face down, embracing the way their lips burned together, reveling in it, and felt him start to move inside her, exalting her blood, her flesh, her being in a way that only he could.

They spent hours coming together, over and over and over again, not tiring, not stopping, not daring to, the hours flying by quicker than either of them were prepared for. She felt tears leave her eyes at one point, felt him kiss them away and kiss her trembling lips, making her wrap tightly around him, thriving in his solid presence, his scruff leaving burns, his mouth laving bites, marking her for when she could not remember.

She marked him too like she had every time previously, clawing at his back, making him bleed, knowing that his blood, the flesh on his back, would carry this memory, biting at his shoulders.

They devoured each other, lost themselves in each other.

And Felicity looked up at him when it was almost time, his blue eyes so soft on hers, so earnest, so pained. He always looked at her like that, like these few moments with her were enough for everything he went through, like feeling her soft skin with his fingers was enough for the scars she left on his, like these few hours were enough for his existence. Unable to contain the sobs anymore, she cried at the injustice of it all, cried because she was going to lose him because time was a traitor, cried because even without the memories, she was hollow without him.

She remembered what he had told her the last time, when her sobs had become uncontrollable.

_“Let’s not say goodbye this time.”_

He had been right. They had met again. And even though she knew it was painful, she knew they would meet again, one day, only to find each other when they were lost.

Felicity wiped the tears that had escaped his own eyes from his cheeks and gave him a tremulous smile, a smile he slowly returned, looking down at her with an emotion that surpassed any, slowly kissing her lips, making her beg her mind to remember this, to remember him, till the next time.

He whispered, softly into her lips, his hands memorizing her body as his own remained inside her.

“Until we meet again.”

The sun came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Eyes On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers who meet at an underground wrestling match. He is wrestling. She is watching. Sparks fly.

* * *

The crowd was getting on her nerves. Her very tight-strung, stretched-almost-to -the-breaking-point nerves. 

Underground wrestling was something she had never even been aware of until the last few months, and even then only because Sara could not stop talking about it. Until yesterday, it had been something distant that she had never had any interest in but had just nodded to in all the right places when Sara talked. Until yesterday. 

This morning, Sara had stopped by her place and literally begged and cajoled Felicity to come with her to the match tonight, pulling out the big and the short and all sorts of guns. 

_“I swear if you just come today, I’ll never ever bug you about wrestling again.”_

So Felicity had agreed. 

Why had she agreed? 

She had been in the huge underground area for almost half an hour and it was becoming unbearable. The crowd was pressing in on her from all sides as she stood right in the front with Sara, who was jumping and screaming profanities that would make a truck driver proud. There was the smell of sweat and men all around her, the area hot and stifling and two men of gigantic proportions were beating each other to a pulp in the ring while a few others stood towards her right, waiting to be called up. 

It was a disaster.  _Big_  disaster and Felicity was ready to just hike out of there, understanding why Sara had smirked upon seeing her in her bright summery dress and high heels. Dang her, she was the only person wearing heels, the only person wearing glasses and the only person wearing pink. Also the only person wanting to leave, most probably.

“I’m leaving,” she shouted, looking at Sara, so loudly that a few heads around her turned but she didn’t give it a thought, pushing her glasses up her nose, annoyed and irritated. “This is barbaric and boring and I’m sweating like a pig. This is literally like a testosterone thing of ten year old boys trapped in forty, fifty year old buffed up bodies and I am so very done.”

She saw Sara’s eyes drift behind her for a second before she gave her  _the_  puppy look, blinking. “Okay. We’ll leave after this match. The last one. Just a few minutes, Fell.”

Sighing, Felicity nodded and ignored the pounding headache that was just beginning right behind her eyes, looking back towards the ring as the new match started. Some guy called Vortex jumped into the ring, screaming and doing weird things with his hands that the crowd ate up like a cat ate cream, and Felicity wondered who the hell named these people. So far, there had been a Jackal, a Jumping Frog and one NightWalker. 

She missed the next guy’s name under the roar that went through the crowd, the surge of adrenaline hitting almost everyone around her as someone pushed her a bit, and she shook her head, calling for patience for just a few more minutes. 

Keeping her eyes on the ring, she saw a guy, shirtless, muscular but not overly buff like most of the others, climb on the top rope and jump into the ring, weaing black short and knee pads. He wore knee pads. It was definitely a change from the other wrestlers for some reason, it amused her.  

And then he turned and all amusement fled. 

His face was  _beautiful_ , something that should graze magazine covers and not be on a very sexy body wrestling, with dark blond hair and eyes the color of which she could not see from the distance, a tight, square jaw littered with slight stubble and all the features just put together in a manner that was completely unfair and fascinating. And hot. Very hot. 

But it wasn’t just the face that made her breath hitch for one second. No. 

It was the way his gaze was on her, right  _on her_ , as he stood inside the ring, gripping the top rope with both hands and leaning forward. 

Throat tight with something she couldn’t name, Felicity turned to look behind her, to see who he was looking at so intensely, but there were only three big men with pot bellies behind her and for some reason she was pretty sure they were not the ones attracting that intense gaze from him. Turning back towards the ring, she swallowed and looked back at him, and then her heart stuttered. 

He kept their eyes locked and pointed to her, right to her, before pointing to his eyes, motioning the age old ‘I’m watching you’ signal with his fingers. Holy frack. 

She heard Sara yelp beside her, felt everyone in the huge audience turn to look at her, and she flushed, confused and flustered at the attention, raising her eyebrows back at him, trying to seem unimpressed which was pretty hard considering her her mouth was gaping. 

She saw his lips twitch a little as the guy in the ring blew his whistle and the match began. For someone who had been aching to get out of the place a minute ago, she was rooted to the spot, her gaze riveted on the pumped action in the ring as the Vortex guy came hurtling like a bull towards him, shoving him head first into the floor. Felicity’s heart started pounding, some of the adrenaline she had felt in the arena seeping into her system as her breathing fastened, her hands gripping the rope in front of her. 

He lay for a second before flipping up on his legs, punching the Vortex guy in the face in the same motion and sending him down, before turning, his eyes coming to exactly where she stood, as though to ensure that she was watching. As if there was another choice for her. Felicity gulped, her eyes wide behind her glasses as he turned and delivered another blow, his gaze never leaving hers. 

Vortex hit him then, diverting his attention and making Felicity’s grip tighten on the rope, the rough fiber scraping into her palm as she bit her lips, nervous for someone she didn’t even know. 

The minutes passed quickly and slowly, paradoxically, as blows were traded. They hit each other over and over again, his eyes always finding her after each and every hit, making sure she was watching the entire thing as he flaunted his skills, no matter where he stood. 

And it was that single piercing look which had shivers going down her spine, that single piercing look directed at her after every flip, every punch, every shove. His eyes always came to her, making sure she still stood there and watched him, only him. 

And it was making her hotter by the minute.

After a few minutes, Sara tugged on Felicity’s arm, telling her that they could leave now, and Felicity, for the life of her, could not move, enthralled and captivated by the sheer violence and those eyes that kept coming back to her, always, the electricity zinging between them  _every single time_ unreal in its intensity, while the deafening crowd kept screaming around them. 

Suddenly, a commotion drew her eyes back to the ring from her friend, and she saw, stunned, as Vortex lay on the ground  _outside_  the ring and  _he_  stood on the top rung, crouched, ready to jump, in a way she had not seen anyone do tonight. 

He looked at her for a split second, again, ascertaining that she was looking, and then he jumped, right on the other guy’s abdomen, making her flinch as the announcer screamed his win, his announcement drowned by the thundering crowd as he stood and cracked his neck in a manner that should be completely illegal, standing tall and proud. 

Felicity took a deep breath, shaking her head at the surreal night and turned to leave, expecting him to walk up to the ring and collect his prize like all the other wrestlers had done, when suddenly she felt Sara call her name and turn her back. 

She turned back. 

And her heart stopped. 

He was striding towards her, a look of intense concentration on his face, his eyes focused on her and only her, his steps long and sure and confident, the crowd cheering on madly now. Her hands twisted the line of rope in her hands, her heart pounding with each step he took, louder and faster, so loud she felt it thrum in her ears and throb in her veins, her pulse spiking and breath coming faster and faster. Her senses were heightened, hearing everything, feeling everything, but only inside her body, her core aching as his muscles flexed with each movement, his torso gleaming with sweat and the vein in his neck pronounced. 

And then he stood, right in front of her, on the other side of the rope, just inches away, his eyes deep, cobalt blue, his gaze penetrating, his face even more beautiful this close. He was tall, very tall, so tall that she had to tilt her head back to look at him even in her heels, and for some reason it was making her heady. 

Before she could blink, his hands were gripping her face and his mouth was on hers, soft, gentle, his lips slightly chapped and his stubble rasping against her skin as she gasped in surprise and he flicked the inside of her lips with his tongue. She could taste the salty sweat around his mouth, taste something minty right inside, and the mixture of tastes only speared the fire through her veins, making her open her mouth wider, hungering for more of this- whatever  _this_  was, uncaring of the hundreds of people who saw this and the millions who would in a few minutes online. 

It was not like her to be so reckless, but for the first time in her life, Felicity didn’t care for anything but the sensations his mouth was eliciting in her, devouring her in front of an audience and that only aroused her more, that he was equally reckless for this, equally not bothered by anything but her.

He did not kiss like a stranger, like a man who had only seen her ten minutes ago and who had made her heart beat more than all her ex boyfriends had combined. No. After the initial softness, he kissed her like a man possessed, like he could not get enough of her mouth, her taste, like he was her long lost lover returning home, clashing their teeth and brushing their tongues in an erotic duel, one that fired her blood to an inferno, just with a kiss, his intensity feral and raw and so, so primal, it called to her. 

Felicity did not know how long they kissed, did not know how long his big, rough hands held her face and his sweaty body brushed against her dress, did not know how long she stood on her toes and he leaned his neck, did not know how long their tongues mated and lips nipped in a kiss that should have been a crime, a sin. She just knew that he pulled back for air, leaving her lips swollen and her mouth burned from his scruff, his eyes half lidded and looking at her with that same intensity, his hands still holding her face as she became aware of the crowd. 

And she flushed to her roots, unable to believe she had just done that, her surprise making her bite her lip and her chest heave. 

He leaned down and put his mouth right next to her ear, his lips brushing her lobe as he spoke, his voice low and husky and so male it made her groin clench. 

“I am not a ten year old trapped in a forty year old body.”

Surprise washed through her, right on the heels on mortification that he had heard her earlier, and she tried to pull back but he held her still, not done speaking. 

“I’m a man asking the most intriguing woman he has ever seen in a crowd if she’d like to get some dinner with him.”

Felicity gulped, her nerves fluttering as she looked up at him. He had just asked her on a date. And he was waiting for her reply, even as the announcer called him to the ring. He didn’t move, keeping his eyes on hers. 

The announcer called again. He still didn’t budge. 

Felicity bit her lip and nodded and he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek which was totally unfair and let her go with a “Give me ten minutes”, turning to the annoyed announcer. 

And though Felicity felt Sara nudge her and gush beside her, felt the hundreds of eyes on her, her tummy fluttered in anticipation for the night, her gaze never moving from him. 

Neither did his.       

And the ten minutes passed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
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	9. Behind Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Strangers who meet in a club. She dances. He watches. Sparks fly.

* * *

It had just been a wild thing for her to do. 

Felicity had gone to the club where Sara had worked and seen the women dance, seen the way their bodies had moved, and the urge to do that, to get up on the stage and be wild for one second of her organized life had taken her over. So, she had. And she had realized, over the next month, that doing that in the evenings had helped her get over her life and her past better than hours of therapy would have. 

Oh, she didn’t strip, that was for another section of the club entirely. But for a month, she had been a dancer, with Sara, only twice a week, in the evenings for an hour, at Risque, one of the poshest, most elite private clubs in Vegas. Though she didn’t strip. 

For a month, Felicity had danced and let herself loose, forgetting about her office and her computers, forgetting the empty apartment she would have to return to, forgetting everything except the flesh she moved and the blood she would feel rushing through her veins. For a month, Felicity had been aware of the many male, some female, gazes on her. But none of them had ever effected her. Until that night. 

He had come in dressed like most men did to the club. The open-collared, pristine white shirt he had worn under the charcoal grey jacket had done nothing to hide the sheer width of his chest and shoulders. He had been tall, very tall, dark blonde, closer to brown-haired, hair that was cut short. Anyone looking at him would have seen a rich, bored man, exactly like most men there. But Felicity had covertly looked at the scruff on his jaw, at the way he had pranced, holding himself tall and confident. As she had turned around the pole, her eyes had gone to him again, drawn by the sheer aura he had had. Just something she hadn’t been able to put her finger on. 

And then she had seen the woman with him, gorgeous, tall, sophisticated woman dressed to kill in red, whose waist he had been holding. As she had seen the two of them take a table with two other men who had come with them, Felicity had willed herself to remove her gaze from him, willed herself to look anywhere but that darkened corner of the room, focusing on her movements, focusing on shaking her hair and thrusting her neck with the beats, moving around the pole. 

On the second turn, she had faced left. 

And their eyes had locked. 

Everything had become a buzz, her entire body had become a buzz. She had been too far to make out the color of his eyes, but not too far to be held captive by them. And it hadn’t even been the eyes, but the way he had been looking at her that had made her shiver for the first time in a month. 

Swallowing, she had shaken her head and kept dancing, the urge to run suddenly overwhelming her as she had pinned what she hadn’t been able to before. He had been animalistic, covered in social facades, predatory.

And after she had danced her hour away, never sparing him a glance, she had run out. She had left quickly, aware the entire time that his eyes never had.

* * *

Felicity had spun around the pole, her eyes closed, letting the music flow through her veins, unaware of the late night crowd in the club. Sara and another girl had been dancing on the two other poles on her side of the huge space, the multi colored lights glancing off their half-clothed bodies had somehow been even more erotic than actual strippers deeper in the club. 

She had tilted forward, holding the pole behind her, and jerked her head up, sending hair cascading over her back, her eyes opening, falling on him just as he had entered the room. He had been alone, dressed in a black button up with sleeves folded over forearms, the animal magnetism inside him somehow even more enhanced. 

His eyes had come straight to her as he had walked up and taken a table closest to the stage, his gaze unwavering on hers. 

Felicity had just raised her eyebrows and continued dancing, her heart pounding in her chest just from those eyes. She had finished her hour and left, looking back just once towards the table he had been occupying, only to find it vacant. 

He had left too.  

* * *

She saw him every night that she worked there. He came in, rich and sexy to boot, walked in like he owned the place just as her hour began, and took a seat, right in the front. His eyes never strayed from hers, locking for one suspended moment before she continued gyrating her hips and throwing her hair. He ordered a drink, just watching her, leaning back in his chair, his face completely devoid of any expression. But his eyes always held something, something so primal, so basic, that it called to her. 

She ignored it every time and finished her hour, only to see him leave the moment she did.

For two weeks, the dance continued. And then things changed.

* * *

Felicity was just about to leave the changing room when the manager came in, escorting her to where the private chambers were located. She walked hesitantly but the manager assured her that it would just be a private dance and nothing more. 

Nodding, she walked in the dark chamber, the blue lights eerie in the background, to see a pole in the center. Walking towards it, she turned towards the couch, where the man sat. And her her steps faltered.

It was him. 

He sat there, one arm thrown casually over the back of the couch, his eyes, those eyes, completely on hers. Felicity felt the pulse spike in her body, felt the low throb of beating in her system as the music started. 

Wetting her lips with her tongue, she gripped the cold steel pole with one hand, turning her back on him, swishing her hair with the beat along with her hips, her nerves stretched taut for some reason, his eyes burning a hole in her back. 

But she didn’t turn the entire hour, somehow afraid. Not of him. No, she somehow knew he wouldn’t hurt her. No. Afraid of herself, of the reactions of her own body that had become a traitor under his watchful gaze.

The moment her hour was done, she rushed out of the chamber and out of the club as quickly as possible, chest heaving, her entire body hot and throbbing with a need she did not understand. 

She took a deep breath and promised herself she wouldn’t give a private dance ever again.

* * *

The promise was broken the very next time. He had been waiting for her in the chamber and she had gone, let their eyes lock, before she had turned her back on him and danced her hour away. It became a routine soon.

He never said anything about it. Just quietly watched her the entire time, and she gyrated and moved equally silently, always with her back to him, avoiding seeing him, every single time. And every single time, she left hot and breathless and completely baffled to her own response to just his eyes. 

Weeks turned to a month, and the pattern never broke. She didn’t even want to think how much money he spent on those hours. He came, she danced, they left, separately. For a month Felicity didn’t dance on the stage, for a month she didn’t touch any other pole except the one in that chamber, for a month she didn’t feel any eyes except his. 

For a month, she made promises to herself at the end of the night and broke them the next. It became a pattern.

* * *

After a month, Felicity had had enough. Frustrated with herself, with his tenacious silence, she decided to check something, to check whether it was the private dance everything inside her responded to or him. 

So, she came on a night she wasn’t supposed to come and requested for a private dance. The manager flustered slightly but agreed, telling her to go to another chamber. 

Felicity did, to find a handsome brunette man sitting on the couch, smiling openly at her. She smiled back and spent her hour, leaving with nothing but tired muscles, not even the spark of a buzz in her body and a sour taste in her mouth over one fact. 

She had been facing the guy the entire time, and nothing had happened.      

* * *

The next time she saw him, he was standing, which was a first. Felicity blinked up at him the moment she entered the chamber, for the first time realizing how big he was, her head reaching his chin even with her heels. 

He looked down at her, his eyes blazing, his face fierce and Felicity saw the blue in his eyes spark like a live wire. He was  _livid_  and Felicity blinked, confused. 

He didn’t say a word, just kept her pinned with that ferocious look, before walking back to the couch and taking a seat. Felicity swallowed, walking on shaky legs to the pole, and just as she almost turned, she heard him speak for the first time. 

“Eyes on me.”

Her stomach clamped with nerves, her body humming at his low, rough voice. With a tremor in her hand, she turned to face him, to see his blue eyes glittering with something intense, his gaze focused on her with an intensity she had never felt from him. The music wafted through the speakers and she inhaled, moving to the rhythm, her eyes on his the entire time. Electricity cackled in the space between them, the soft blue lights casting a harsh glow over his frame as he sat coiled, ready for action. 

The minutes passed slowly, and by half an hour, her body was more ready, more primed than she had ever felt it be, her heart hammering hard. Half an hour and for the first time, Felicity didn’t complete her hour, stopping in the middle. 

She turned to the door to leave and suddenly, he was there, all big muscles and musky cologne, looking down at her. Felicity gripped the pole behind her with both hands, to keep herself from touching him, and pressed back into it, her senses overwhelmed. He just stared down at her, searching her eyes, his scruffy jaw tight, the mole beside his lip tempting. Felicity forced herself to keep her eyes on his and not let it stray. 

He leaned forward. Her heart stopped, her eyes closed. 

And then, his lips murmured, right against her lips. 

“Don’t ever dance for anyone else again.”

Fire shot through her veins. Her eyes fluttered open, to see his just inches away. 

“I dance for myself,” she whispered, her lips brushing his, her heart pounding so hard she feared he would hear it.

“You dance for me, and we both know it.”

He brushed his lips again with hers, touching her lower one with his tongue and her heart flipped, her fingers clenching the steel behind her back hard. She waited, eyes closed, breath short, for him to deepen the kiss, to let go of the control she knew he was leashing, her entire body vibrating with a hunger she wasn’t familiar with.

He pulled back with a tug on her lower lip, his breath ghosting over her face, and chest heaving, she stared back at him for a second, before ducking away and heading for the door. He didn’t stop her, which she was grateful for as she walked away on tottering legs, her flesh wanton with need, with something way more than basic desire. It was him. Just him. 

And she walked out of the club, knowing she wouldn’t return again.

* * *

She returned again after a week. A week of battling the urge to see him that finally became too much. 

She went back, not to dance but just as a guest, and sat down at the bar, her eyes on the dancer who had replaced her. She looked around at the crowd, at the men in the room, not finding the one face she had been hoping and dreading to find, disappointment acute in her. 

She threw her drink back in one go, feeling the burn down her throat, and hopped off from the stool, turning, just as she collided with a solid wall of muscles. 

Tilting her head back, she saw him gaze down at her with something akin to relief and anger on his face, mingling together, something so  _raw_  in his eyes it made her breath catch. And then he spoke, in that low voice. 

“Dinner or dance?”

Felicity would have laughed at any other time, but watching him, feeling that intensity throb between them, she bit her lips, watching his eyes glance at the movement before coming to hers. 

With more boldness than she was feeling, she took a hold of his hand and pulled him towards the corridor, towards the empty chambers in the back. His rough, big hand twined with hers, and he followed her silently. 

They stepped in their chamber and Felicity headed straight to the center of the room, throwing her bag aside on the floor, turning to look at him. 

He stood against the door for one long moment, just looking at her, searching her face with his blue eyes, before doing something he had never done before, something that sent a wave of heat through her body. 

He locked the door.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/dorky06/)


	10. Behind Closed Doors - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who wanted a second part to the first one. There’s smut. Be warned. Oliver’s POV.

 

* * *

 

He remembered the first time he had seen her. He had come into the club at Tommy’s insistence, tired and exhausted from the day, feeling more like a caged animal in the suit than a man. He had smiled politely and nodded in the conversation, ignoring the crowd and the music, while the animal had paced inside him, agitated.

And then, in a bored movement, he had turned his head, and seen her. 

She had not been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, not by a long shot. Nor had she been a professional dancer. He had been able to discern it from her movements. But for some reason, he had been unable to take his eyes off her. 

Maybe it had been the way she had closed her eyes and tilted her head, purely in the pleasure of her movements and not doing them like a task like most dancers he had seen. Or maybe it had been the raw sensuality in her movements, the very rawness that had told her she wasn’t a professional. Or maybe it had been the way her eyes had come to him and locked, surprise and something else mingling in her eyes before she had looked away. 

Oliver hadn’t known then and he sure as hell didn’t now. All he had known that first night, sitting in his chair, suddenly interested in the club, boredom and exhaustion the furthest thing from his mind, had been simple. For the first time in a long, long time, Oliver had felt stimulated. The caged animal had perked up in interest, prancing instead of pacing, and he, the man, had felt intrigued. 

He had noticed the way she had deliberately not looked at him again, seen the way she had run off in a few minutes. And before the night had been over, he had gathered all the information he had wanted on her from the manager who had only been too eager to please. 

He had returned the night she had her hour, alone this time, and walked up to the table he had booked on her nights beforehand. He had seen the way her eyes had widened upon seeing him, flaring with that something more that had hooked him, and seen the way she had continued dancing, aware of his eyes on her. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Not only because she had danced like every wet dream he had ever had, but her deliberate rebuff of his gaze had amused him. That concoction of arousal and amusement he had never felt. It had been heady, it had been a drug, it had been her. 

Felicity. 

A woman with the name of innocence, the body of sin, the spirit of aphrodisiac. He had rolled her name in his head in every which way, ached to speak it aloud, but that something in her eyes had always had him hold his tongue. So, he had let his eyes speak, even as she had hurried away again. 

It had been light till the third time. She had become used to his gaze on her while she danced, the surprise in her eyes upon seeing him diminishing every time he had entered the room. He had seen the way she had started adding extra sway to her hips, extra twist to her neck, extra sensuality to her flesh. At that point, he had known her dances had been for him. The animal had liked this acknowledgement. So had the man. Somehow, for the first time, both had agreed on something. On her. 

It had been on one night, after she had left, that Oliver had heard a group of men comment on her. He had stilled, anger pulsing through his veins, the urge to make the men swallow their own tongues almost taking him over. But he had walked on, straight to the manager, and told the man, after producing a cheque, that he wanted private dances from her, on every night that she came. The man had stared baffled at Oliver, at the money, but nodded. Oliver had left, satisfied, his blood rushing for another reason entirely, something in his gut not understanding why he had done that, yet accepting it. Oliver hadn’t realized that that heaviness in his gut would only intensify where she was concerned, to a point where the animal and the man would become one. 

* * *

His gut churned as he locked the door. Relief, rage and something very foreign yet familiar mingled inside him, the lines between them blurring. She had become the one part of his life he looked forward to when he woke up in the mornings, and one he remembered before he fell asleep. He had never understood why a man like himself, who never cared about women, had not slept with her. There had been opportunities, every single time in this very chamber. 

Maybe it had been the guileless way her eyes looked at him, the steely way in which she had never faced him in private, always dancing with her back to him, perhaps not realizing the tantalizing view she had been giving him the entire time. 

He had come close though, when the manager had called him that night a week ago, with the news that she had requested a private dance for someone else. The glass in his hand had shattered against the wall, the fury inside him erupting in a loud roar from his chest, an image of her dancing for someone else, the way she danced for him, in a private chamber no one entered on a loop in his head. Another glass had been a victim, the burn inside him not quenched by anything, the picture of her with another man making him realize it. He had been jealous, so fucking jealous because whether she knew it or not, she had been his. Only his. 

The next day hadn’t been any better. Seeing her that night had almost tipped him over the edge, the urge to spear his fingers through those long tresses and claim her like he had needed to burning his chest. He had demanded she dance facing him that night. She had, her eyes wide and confused, before she had stopped, ready to bolt. 

He had tasted the lip that had been teasing him forever, and told her the truth. She danced for him, and that had been a fact. She hadn’t denied it. But she had bolted. And Oliver had gone crazier than he had that one night, for one week. Seven nights and days of pure fear and anger. Fear that she wouldn’t return. Anger that she had left. Fear that he would never see her again. Anger that she would dare deny them that chance. Fear. Anger. Fear. Anger. Day. Night. Day. Night. He knew he wanted her, more than a dancer, more than a woman, more than more. He needed her. 

And finally, after waiting every night for her, he had seen her tonight. 

Walking into the darkened chamber streaked with muted blue lights, with only a couch and that damned pole, Oliver took a seat, his outward appearance not belying the turmoil right under his skin as he watched her. 

This time, she didn’t give him her back, didn’t remove her aqua gaze from his. She bit her full lower lip, taking a hesitant step closer to where he was and his heart pounded as he sat still, waiting. She had run away. She had to come to him now. 

He saw her straighten her small frame, a determined look enter her eyes before she whipped her dress up over her head and tossed it to the ground casually with the flick of her wrist. It left her in black lace underwear that had Oliver’s pulse spiking, not the skin but the way she showed him that skin shooting blood straight to his groin. 

But he didn’t move. Not a muscle, not an inch, just kept leaning back against the couch and raised his eyebrows at her. 

Keeping her eyes on his, she took a hold of the pole with one hand, moving around it slowly, never breaking their gaze. 

“You want to take me to dinner after this?” she asked softly, her voice smoky, low, making him wonder how she’d sound screaming. The animal grew restless. As did the man. 

“Yes,” he said simply, meaning it. He wanted to dine her, wine her, know her, be with her. He wanted it all. 

She stopped, blinking at him. “And then? Where will you take me?” 

The deliberate double meaning of her words did not escape him, the heat in her eyes making a bead of sweat roll down his back even in the air-conditioned chamber. 

“Wherever you want.” 

He saw the way her breath hitched and eyes heated even more, certain his own would be reflecting the exact same thing. He gripped the cushion beside him to keep from pinning her against the door and show her exactly how he’d like to take her. She had to come to him. Of her own choice. 

Slowly, as though understanding, she walked towards him, in those sexy fuck-me heels, and he kept his eyes on hers, not even glancing down at the sway of her hips. 

She came to a stop in front of him, right in front of him, her bare, slightly rounded, soft stomach at level with his face, her breath coming shorter as she just stood there. Oliver looked at the slight trembling of her stomach, his own blood drumming in his ears, arousal unlike he had ever known simmering in every pore of his body, ready to explode. 

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward slightly, brushing his lips over the smooth skin right above her hip bone, and felt the muscle tense, her breath catch. A heady sensation washed over him as he did it again, this time swiping his tongue across the spot. Her hands came up, for the first time, to touch him voluntarily in passion, gripping the back of his head. 

And his control to not touch her vanished. 

Taking her waist in his rough hands, feeling the softness of her skin under his fingers, he pulled her forward to stand between his legs, his teeth nipping at the flesh right above the hem of her panties. He felt her hair brush the back of his hands as she tilted her head back, moaning slightly, and the sound spurred his blood, his own erection heavy and hard in his trousers, the musky scent of her arousal surrounding him this close. 

She didn’t make any move to push him away at all, instead she gripped his hair and pulled his face closer, her stomach quivering under his mouth as her breasts heaved right above him, trapped in the bra she wore. 

He let his hands travel up her back, to the catch of her bra, and he waited, looking up at her, for permission to cross this line, because once it was crossed, there wouldn’t be any going back. 

Gazing down at him with darkened eyes, she pushed the straps down, giving him all the permission he would need as something inside him relaxed, flicking her bra open and tossing it aside. One hard nipple was in his mouth even before her bra hit the floor, a loud keening noise erupting from her throat as Oliver felt the satin on her skin on his tongue, tasted the puckered flesh in his mouth, drawing upon it, his left hand going to the other, palming her entire breast as her back bowed and her hands pressed him closer. 

Hips undulating in the air, she panted. “We are not banging till I know your name.”

Oliver felt a smile chase his mouth even as he tugged on her nipple with his lips, that same concoction of amusement and arousal hitting him, only with a lot of other things now. 

He pulled back, looking up at her, and spoke. “Oliver.”

She blinked, a small smile on her lips. “Oliver? Felicity.” 

He knew already but he nodded, finally saying aloud what he had a million times in his head. “Felicity.” 

It felt perfect. Her name on his tongue. Felicity. 

She suddenly leaned forward, her hands going to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing them as her breasts dangled in front of him. But he kept his eyes on hers, the mixture of blue and heat far more erotic than anything else could ever be. When she reached the fifth button, Oliver couldn’t take it anymore. 

He leaned forward again, his mouth touching the line of her black panties, tracing the edge with his tongue. She gasped above him but her stance widened, her strong legs apart to give him the freedom to do as he pleased. He pleased to do a lot. 

Pulling her panties down in one go, he didn’t even wait for them to drop before holding one smooth thigh, hooking it over his shoulder, and planting soft kisses on that inner thigh. Her breath stuttered above him, and as he reached the juncture, she started speaking. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” she said, a little nervously if he wasn’t mistaken. “By this, I mean this. With strangers. Though you aren’t. But you are. And then… oh god!”

Her words trailed away into a cry the moment his mouth touched her core, his tongue tasting her for the first time, her spicy taste exploding in his mouth as he pulled her hips closer, licking a stripe across her wet flesh. Her hands tugged hard on his hair, her hips bucking into his mouth like he had seen it buck against that pole so many times, and satisfaction filled him, the abandoned way her reactions left her mouth, her body, thrilling him. 

Flicking his tongue across her clit just as he teased her with a finger, Oliver hummed against her flesh, her loud mewls getting louder as he inserted a finger inside her, feeling her muscles tightly clamp on it, his erection throbbing painfully at that. He pumped that finger inside her over an over again while using, unleashing his mouth on her little aroused nub, feeling the way she panted and her thigh tightened over his shoulder, her fingers gripping his hair to pull him impossibly closer, her hips flexing with his finger as he added another, his own heart hammering with the need to fuck her till she couldn’t walk acute. 

Within minutes of the motion, his fingers giving no heed to her cries, penetrating her over and over and over again as he tugged and flicked on her nub, her back arched sharply, a loud scream of incoherent noises leaving her throat as she came around his fingers with abandon, and his heart clenched, softening somehow, realizing the kind of trust she put in him for her wanton reactions to be this uncensored. 

Removing his fingers from her as she panted heavily, coming down from the high, he pulled her down on the couch, pushing her on her back before she could recover, undoing his belt and trousers. Freeing his erection, he looked at her, at the hungry way she watched him, licking her lips, and the animal reared its head, any lingering softness from a moment ago vanishing. 

He put his knee on the cushion, keeping one leg on the floor for balance. She adjusted on the couch, hiking one leg high over his hips, her heel digging into his back and one leg on the floor crossing over his, biting her lips. 

“This won’t be romantic, Felicity,” he warned, his voice low, heavy with the need tingling under his skin. He saw her nod, her hands pulling his scarred body closer. 

“You can do romance over dinner later, Oliver,” she spoke, her own need evident in her voice. 

Inhaling deeply, his blood firing at her own acknowledgement of their desires, he lined himself up against her spread legs, just as someone knocked on the door. 

Felicity’s head jerked to the door, her eyes widening and another thrill shot through Oliver, knowing he had locked it. He placed his hand over her mouth and her wide eyes swung to his, locking, and without any warning, he entered her with a sharp thrust that made her nails dig into his shoulders and her eyes roll back in her head, a loud moan muffling around his hand as he buried himself to the hilt.  

The person on the other side of the door knocked again and Oliver pulled out of her, thrusting in hard, hitting her insides with his length. Her walls clung to him, clamping on him, quivering around him, warm, wet, waiting, as her eyes opened, looking at him, heavy lidded with pleasure, his hand covering her mouth. He thrust in again and her head tilted back, her back arching, leg tightening over his hip, tugging him closer, her warm noises muffling against his hand, barely audible to anyone but them. 

Oliver looked at her wanton self, looked at her, naked, accepting him, matching his passion, taking his animal and his man without missing a beat, and that heaviness in his belly unfurled, blooming in his heart, making him realize that he wasn’t going to let her get away, not without the fight of his life. She belonged to, with, him.  

The person on the other side kept knocking and Oliver picked up his pace, thrusting in and out sharply without pausing, pistoning his hips into hers, loving the way her breath caught of every downward hit of his pelvis, his length shafting her before she even caught her breath, filling her, feeling her muscles clench and unclench around him repeatedly, welcome him repeatedly, milk him repeatedly. 

The muffled noises from her throat got louder and louder, her breasts jiggling with each thrust of his, her chest heaving and eyes closing and opening as pleasure swirled in its depths. The knocks were ignored, the fact that she was making an effort to keep quiet against his hands while he fucked her like a man possessed heated his blood even more. 

Pulling his hand away, Oliver leaned down and slanted his mouth over hers properly for the first time, letting his tongue swallow her moans and his growls as she scratched at him like a wildcat, his hips never stopping even as sweat coated their bodies, the passion, the heat blazing between them. 

The tingle started low in his spine and he pushed one hand between her legs, his fingers finding her small clit and rubbing it furiously as he sped up even more, her cries now muffled against his neck as he groaned softly into hers. And then suddenly, her muscles locked on him like vises, gripping his erection so tightly his breath left his lungs, and she bit his shoulder to drown her scream. The bite pushed him over the edge, and with one small thrust, he exploded inside her, his vision whitening for a second as pleasure whipped through his entire body, her walls still holding him, quivering around him as she came and came, her teeth still on his shoulder as he bit her neck, marking her, possessing her like the animal dictated in that moment, their bodies locked. 

Slowly, the white disappeared from his mind, the animal retreated, and he pulled back, his muscles replete, aching, but sated. He looked down at her, to see her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips, her body completely lax, and a smile tugged at his mouth. She blinked her eyes open, looking at him, her eyes that warm blue of summer sky. 

Their gazes stayed locked, their bodies stayed locked. 

The door stayed locked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	11. Through The Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Strangers who meet young.

 

* * *

 

 

It was on a cold, snowy night that she saw _him_ for the first time.

The world was wrapped in white all around their small townhouse and the little snowflakes were continuing to fall. For a few hours, she’d been out with her dad, tasting the snowflakes on her little pink tongue, making small balls with her hands and wetting her thick mittens. But the chill had gotten too bad so she’d come inside to her warm, delicious-smelling house, had cleaned up and sat her tush on her chair beside the dining table.

It was then, while drinking from her hot cup of chocolate with the marshmallows as night fell outside, while her parents sat before her with their backs to the large windows, that she saw him.

Gaunt. Thin. Pale.

_Cold._

He looked _so_ cold. His teeth visibly chattered in the wind she could see blowing outside, the paleness of his skin matching the falling snow. And in that pale, thin face of overlong, messy blond hair, she saw those sad blue eyes, blue like the beautiful sky on a clear day. He was looking into the house, his eyes roaming all over the place, taking in everything with such longing on that tired face that her eyes filled.

He caught her looking at him.

Fear flashed across his face.

And then, he was gone.

Before she could utter a word.

She went to her warm bed that night, thinking of the cold boy with the sad blue eyes.

She went to her soft bed, an eight-year-old who didn’t know her life had changed.

 

* * *

 

She caught him outside her window the next night.

Her little heart beat faster when she found him, leaning against the glass, peeking inside her small bedroom. Before she could stop herself, she climbed down from the bed and without turning on the lights, went to the window.

She leaned her head back at looked slightly up at him, seeing his blue eyes widen for a second upon seeing her awake. Tilting her head to the side, she took in the thin, ugly sweater he wore with a small hole near his shoulder, the jeans that had faded to an almost light color, and the scuffed shoes. Then, she peeked down at her own thick red socks, her tummy hurting for him.

But she couldn’t invite him inside. She couldn’t talk to him either. He was a stranger and talking to strangers was bad.

Biting her lip, she looked back up into his sad eyes, and slowly placed her tiny hands on the glass opposite his.

His hands, just slightly bigger than hers, shook.

Before she could question herself, Felicity ran back to her bed, plucked out her favorite blue blanket - with the big brown wolf looking up at the big yellow moon that her mom had made for her - and dragged it to the window, almost falling down twice under the weight of the thing.

The boy watched her quietly, stepping back when she opened the window, thrust the blanket into his arms and slammed the glass down again before he could snatch her away.

She saw the boy look down at her favorite blanket in his arms, saw his fingers curl around it, and saw him look up.

And she grinned.

His eyes weren’t so sad anymore.

 

* * *

 

She woke up extra early the next morning, just to see if he was there.

He wasn’t.

Quelling the disappointment down, Felicity jumped to the kitchen, a new mission on her mind.

He came that night, wordlessly, soundlessly, wrapped in her blanket, and pressed those hands upon the glass.

She got down from the bed on her tippy toes, wordlessly, soundlessly, and pressed her hands against his.

Then she snatched the Tupperware of pie she’d been saving for him the whole day, opened the window a peek and thrust it in his arms before slamming the window down again.

He looked down at the box for a long time, his lips trembling, before looking up at her.

And she knew, without a doubt, he would be back.

 

* * *

 

It became their thing before she realized it.

He came to her every night. Some nights she gave him things. Some nights she didn’t.

She never opened the window to talk to him, worried because he was a stranger and her mom told her every day to never speak to strangers.

But her mom never told her she couldn’t try to make their eyes happy.

 

* * *

 

The first time she went for a trip with her parents for a few days, she panicked. 

It had been a few months since their secret nightly ritual had begun, and her little heart had been scared to death that she would come back and he would be gone.

So, she made a small basket of cookies and left him a small note from her heart, right outside her window.

_‘I will be back in three nights.’_

Three nights later, so was he.

 

* * *

 

Years passed.

She grew.

He grew.

His hair got shorter. His body got taller. His hands got bigger.

But his eyes never changed.

Despite the darkening shade of his hair, despite the tan of his skin that was completely opposite of how he’d once been, despite the muscles that slowly filled out his form, he was the same. Even though his hands completely overshadowed her small ones, even though she had to tilt her head way back to keep their eyes locked, even though his jaw had started to fill out with scruff, he was the same.

He never wore her favorite blanket again after those first few days.

He never returned it either.

But every night, sharp at eleven, when her parents fell asleep, he came to her window.

And every night, sharp until eleven, she waited.

 

* * *

 

She never spoke to him, even after they grew up. Never asked him who he was, where he came from or where he went. Never asked him where he lived, why he’d looked so broken that night years ago or why he kept returning every night. Never asked him what he did during the day or who he stayed with or where he went to school, if he did.

She wondered, but never asked, never spoke.

Because he was a stranger.

Because he had become more.

Because breaking the silence might just break them.

 

* * *

 

Things changed on a summer night when she was fourteen.

On a night like every other, he came to her. Clear skies, scattered stars, gentle breeze.

She sat by the window, on the seat she’d had her dad install a while ago, her glasses on her nose as she pored over the historical romance fiction she’d started reading that evening.

She knew he was there without him making a noise.

His hands - larger, rougher, with longer, leaner fingers - pressed against the glass as his clear blue eyes looked down at her with that searing intensity her body had started to crave. Smiling, she put down the volume and kneeled on the seat, fitting her smaller, paler hands against his on the glass, her heart pounding as she wondered what it would feel like against her own - palm to palm, finger to finger, skin to skin.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Something responded in her.

For the first time, he removed one hand, tracing her face over the glass slowly, his jaw clenching.

Her hand moved towards the latch.

He shook his head once.

Her hand froze.

Tracing her face again, this time with his eyes, as though committing it to memory, he leaned his forehead against the window.

_Something was off._

Rattled, pulse drumming erratically, she pressed her own forehead against his, unable to understand what his eyes were telling her.

His fingers moved over the glass near her cheek once, before he closed his eyes.

She almost opened the window.

_Almost._

Except he turned around and left like he did every night.

The next morning, she found a little box outside her window.

A tiny silver half-moon pendant on a silver chain.

And she knew, without a doubt, he was gone.

 

* * *

 

_Life moved on. Seasons changed._

Nobody realized why she became quieter.

Nobody understood why she withdrew.

Nobody noticed her sitting on her window seat every night at eleven for years.

_Life moved on. Seasons changed._

Her father left.

Her mother crumbled.

Her fantasies shattered.

_Life moved on. Seasons changed._

She gave that first kiss to a boy who was not _him._

She gave her first time to another boy who was not _him_.

He was not _there,_ not for any of it _._

And yet, he stayed with her throughout, wrapped around her neck, nestled between her breasts, hidden from the world, beating right on her heart.

A small half moon, wondering if her lone wolf howled for it somewhere.

 

* * *

 

It was leaving home for college that almost broke her.

Until then, she’d convinced herself she’d forgotten him. Until then, she’d learned to pretend. Until then, she’d even stopped sitting on that seat every damn night.

The day she got accepted filled her with joy and emptiness.

That night, after months, she sat on the cushions, her eyes on the glass that had been the only witness of their memories, the glass that had held his touch upon it right with hers, the glass that had been an invisible barrier neither of them had ever crossed.

Eyes burning, she brought up the marker in her hand and slowly etched the outline of her hands permanently upon it, not truly knowing why she did so.

She cried the entire time.

And then, she left the glass, the house, the memories of blue eyes behind.

 

* * *

 

It was on a rainy evening that things changed again.

She was inside the small, warm cafe near the campus, her project for the finals finally done. Packing up her stuff, she took the last sip of her coffee and hitched the bag over her shoulder and moved towards the exit, eyeing the rapidly darkening sky outside the huge windows, the rain falling upon the glass in a melodic cacophony of sounds.

Reaching the big glass doors, she raised her hands without thought to push them open.

And found them blocked.

_Hands._

On the glass from the other side.

Large, tanned, rough hands.

_Right against hers._

Her heart started to pound.

_Too loud._

_Too fast._

_Too much._

Breaths escalating, her chest heavy with fear and longing and anger and hate and pain and _everything…_ _so deep_ , she didn’t look up. Didn’t dare to look up.

But her eyes traced those hands feverishly, drinking in the sight like a parched man getting a miraculous drop of water after a drought.

His hands, so much bigger than hers, shook. 

Her own responded.

She saw those forearms, more muscular than they’d ever been, roped with tendons and veins and hair, exposed by white shirt sleeves folded to the elbow. She saw those biceps straining against the wet white fabric, thick and tight with strength as he leaned against the glass door. She saw those shoulders, grown even wider than they’d been, his collar open and exposing a strong, tanned neck.

Her eyes took it all in.

And then she _saw._

Right over his chest, beside his heart.

Exposed by the clinging, drenched white shirt.

Inked upon his flesh.

A large wolf howling at the lone half moon.

Her heart clenched. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, lips trembling, she looked up.

_Lightning._

_Blue._

_So blue._

So intense. So determined. So terrified.

Her heart trembled.

_His eyes locked hers._

Her knees shook.

_His eyes locked hers._

Her throat tightened.

_His eyes locked hers._

Her hands dropped down.

His didn’t.

Their gazes remained connected.

Their breaths remained synced.

Their bodies remained frozen.

_Seconds._

_Minutes._

_Lifetimes._

And then, slowly, never removing his eyes from hers, he moved.

He opened the glass door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other works if you liked this. 
> 
> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
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